


Power Play

by ChancellorGriffin



Series: 2017 "The 100" Kink Meme Fills [3]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hate Sex, I Mean They Both Want It But Also They're Lowkey Torturing Each Other, Mildly Dubious Consent, Prison, Prison Sex, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-21
Updated: 2017-03-21
Packaged: 2018-10-08 19:11:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10394148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChancellorGriffin/pseuds/ChancellorGriffin
Summary: Post-pilot.  Jaha locks Kane and Abby up together in the Skybox for three days to force them to stop their goddamn bickering.They don't.





	

**Author's Note:**

> filled prompt from the 2017 "the 100" kink meme on livejournal (LINK TO ORIGINAL POST HERE: http://100kinkmeme.livejournal.com/1753.html?thread=100569#t100569)
> 
> PROMPT: "Kabby Season One. Hate sex in a jail cell"

Three days, Thelonious had ordered, furious at both of them. “The Ark is in crisis. The Council has never been more needed than before. Unity is _vital._ If the two of you cannot go one day without creating chaos that disrupts and undermines the delicate social structure of this entire station, then there is no room for either of you on the Council.”  
  
They’d both apologized, halfheartedly at first and then with increasing desperation when it became clear he was serious.  
  
“Thelonious, you cannot possibly be trapping me in here with him.”  
  
“Sir, with all due respect –"  
  
“Not another word out of either of you,” he thundered, and they both shut up. “Three days. After that, either you work together, or you’re both off the Council.”  
  
The heavy metallic slam of the door was foreboding and infuriating all at once.  
  
“I hope you’re pleased with yourself,” Marcus sneered as he hung his jacket on the hook over one bunk, effectively claiming it as his own, and even though the bunks were both identical and she genuinely didn’t give a damn she was infuriated all over again by his casual presumption of first choice.  
  
“Of course,” she snapped, kicking off her boots and flopping down on the other bunk. “Of _course_ it’s my fault. Classic Marcus. Always follows the rules, never takes responsibility for anything.”  
  
“The way you say ‘follow the rules’ like it’s a dirty word tells us everything you need to know about how we both ended up in here.”  
  
“You know what, Marcus? Someday you’re going to end up in a situation there aren’t any rules for and you’re going to be _fucked_ because you don’t even know who you are or what you believe without Thelonious telling you what to do.”  
  
The silence that followed was awful.  
  
She had crossed a line and knew it, and she couldn't take it back because they both knew her accusation was actually true. Because he hadn’t always been like this, when they were kids she’d liked him. He was always quiet and a little stiff but he hadn’t been cold back when Jake was his best friend, it was impossible to be cold around Jake. It was only once they got older and Thelonious took Kane under his wing that the transformation happened, and she really did believe that if Thelonious died tomorrow Kane would have no idea who he was at all.  
  
So . . . it _was_ true. And she _was_ pissed at him. And it wasn't like he didn't deserve to feel terrible, for getting them thrown in one of those hundred empty Sky Box cells for three days.  
  
But none of that meant it wasn’t a terrible thing to say.  
  
“Marcus,” she attempted halfheartedly, but there was only silence from the opposite bunk.  
  
Minutes passed. The silence grew more tense. Was he hurt, or sulking? She couldn't tell. She tried saying his name again.  
  
Silence.  
  
She sighed. Fine, then, make _her_ have to be the bigger person. “Oh, for God’s sake. Marcus, I didn’t mean –"  
  
“ _Shut up_ , Abby,” he said fiercely, something he had never said to her before in four decades, and she was so stunned by it that she actually did.  
  
For like a minute.  
  
Then she was _livid._

“Now, wait a minute,” she snapped, sitting up from her bunk and stomping across the cell to his side (two strides for his long legs, but four for hers, plenty of time to stomp), standing over him with her arms folded. “Don’t you _dare_ talk to me like that when I’m trying to apologize.”  
  
He slammed a fist into the metal wall beside the bed, the noise so loud she jumped.  
  
“You weren’t trying to apologize,” he gritted out, angrier than she’d ever heard him, rising from the bunk to draw himself to his full height, looming over her, reminding her he could break her in half if he wanted to, backing her against the wall. She let herself be backed up – had to, couldn’t push him back the other direction – but the flash of her eyes let him know he hadn’t won. “You were going to make an excuse, and I didn’t want to hear it.”  
  
“Marcus, I swear to God –"  
  
“ _Shut up_ , Abby,” he barked again, palms slamming flat against the metal wall on either side of her shoulders, pinning her in place with his cold stare. “Can you even go a _minute_ without talking? God, you’re _always_ talking, you’re so full of words, you think all of them are right, you think you can just talk and talk and eventually everyone will just give in. You and Thelonious, you upper-crust kids, you think the rules will just bend for you, the rules _always_ just bend for you, you have no idea what it’s like to be anyone else who isn’t Abby Griffin and you don’t even _try_ , because no one who isn’t Abby Griffin could _possibly_ be right.” He leaned in closer, menacing her a little, and she drew herself up as tall as she could to prove she wasn’t afraid. “You never _listen_ ,” he breathed, soft and furious. “You think you’re in control of everything. But you’re not.”  
  
“And who’s in control right now?” she retorted, wanting to throw it at him with venomous force but somehow it came out in a whisper, somehow she couldn’t raise her voice, something had changed now that he was so close to her _(had he_ ever _been this close to her?)_ , trapped inside the cage of his arms.  
  
“If you were in control, we wouldn’t be here,” he murmured, eyes fixed on hers, dark and serious and flashing with anger, but there was something else in there too, something that locked them together, as powerful as gravity.  
  
He moved closer. She let him.  
  
“There are times when I think I hate you,” she said softly, but her voice was softer than her words, the bullet didn’t land. He stepped in closer to her again, palms still splayed on the wall behind her. If she’d really wanted to run, she could have ducked under his arm and gotten free. Why didn’t she? She didn’t know.  
  
“There are times when I think I hate you too,” he whispered back, but even though the anger hadn’t dissipated the words sounded like a caress, and _what the hell was happening here_? “God, you are _maddening_.”  
  
“You’re a bully,” she said, feeling a nervous flutter inside her bones at the transfixing power of his furious stare. “This, right here, this is what you do to get your way. Try to intimidate people.”  
  
He laughed at that, a low throaty chuckle. “When have I ever intimidated you, Abby?” She didn’t answer. “Besides,” he added. “This isn’t the first time you’ve had the chance to get rid of me and you didn’t take it.”  
  
She was inexplicably even _more_ angry at this, though she wasn’t sure what he meant, but it was as though he’d caught her out in a point of weakness and she didn’t like that at all. She pushed at his chest, suddenly needing air, needing to get free, but he didn’t budge. She pushed harder. So swiftly she never saw it coming, he reached down, snatched her wrists in his hands, pinioned her up against the wall. She struggled to break his vise-like grip, but he was immovable, gaze fixed on hers, dark and serious, but different, unrecognizable all its coldness suddenly transmuted into heat.  
  
“Do I intimidate you?” he murmured.  
  
“Let go of me.”  
  
“No.”  
  
“Marcus, I swear to God, if you don’t let go right now –"  
  
His mouth crashed into hers, knocking the breath out of her lungs. He kissed her rough and hard and furious, lips dry and warm, tongue insistent and demanding.  
  
By the time he finally let go of her hands she had already lost all interest in pushing him away.  Her wrists ached from his furious grip, but she didn’t care, clutching wildly at his shoulders as his tongue worked her mouth open and demanded entry. His own hands, now freed, glided up the sides of her waist to clutch her ribcage, so high that his thumbs brushed the bottom of her breast. By the time he pulled away, they were both gasping.  
  
“How long have you been wanting to do that?”  
  
“About fifteen seconds. I was running out of ideas to make you shut your damn mouth.”  
  
“ _Christ,_ you’re infuriating.”  
  
 _“Shut up, Abby,”_ he barked again, and cut off her protests by clamping his mouth once more hotly over hers. His hands slid higher, bold, presumptuous, cupping her breasts in his palms. In all her life nothing had ever been more astonishing than Marcus Kane clutching roughly at her breasts, grunting raw desire into her open mouth, shifting his weight to press her against the wall and letting her feel the staggering astonishment of an already half-hard cock pulsing inside the thick black canvas of his uniform. Heat swirled low and deep in her belly, and she knew once he touched her he’d find her cotton shorts soaked through.  
  
The realization that she _wanted_ him to touch her, _wanted_ him to learn that, was even more shocking than the kiss.  
  
She wanted him. Which meant she was vulnerable. Which meant she needed to take the reins back, and fast, before he figured it out.  
  
“If you’re going to fuck me, Marcus,” she whispered throatily as he lifted his head, “then fuck me. I haven’t got all day.”  
  
“You’ve got three days,” he reminded her, pushing her bra up so her breasts could spring free beneath it, and pinching both her nipples so hard she winced. “I’ll take as long as I damn well please.”  
  
“You don’t think I can hold out longer than you can?”  
  
“Everything’s a damn competition with you,” he snapped, and then his hands were on her zipper and with one flick she was open before him and a hot strong hand was inside, cupping her, middle finger teasing open her labia, wetness everywhere. He raised an eyebrow at this, such an obvious sign of desire, gave a smug little grin like he’d regained the lead. But two could play at that game, and she had his pulsing cock ( _fuck_ , so big, so heavy) in her fist before he knew what had hit him.  
  
“Détente, then,” he said softly, leaning his forehead against hers. “One point to you, one to me.”  
  
“You tried to have me _executed_ , Marcus,” she hissed, hand tightening around his cock. “This isn’t a tie. This will _never_ be a tie. Don’t stand there like you think you have a shot at the high ground.”  
  
“No room on the high ground for anyone else, not with all those signs everywhere saying ‘Property of Abby Griffin.’” A finger crooked upwards, like he was beckoning, and then he was _inside her,_ and she fought like hell to keep the startled gasp of pleasure inside so he wouldn’t know how good he was making her feel. But he wasn’t an idiot, he saw it, he knew her, and with an unbearably self-satisfied grin he moved his hand and then _oh, Jesus, oh fuck oh fuck_ , three fingers plunged inside her, hard and deep and fast, and she hated him so much but she couldn’t bear the thought of him stopping.  
  
“You son of a bitch,” she panted, fiercely trying to bite back her cries of pleasure, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. But he didn’t stop, his fingers were perfect, curled deep inside her, unerringly directed to the one spot that always –   
  
_No, God, no –_  
  
She came with a frantic inhalation of breath, rocking forward, head dropping against his shoulder as she trembled, almost intimate, like she’d forgotten for a second who he was.  
  
Then “Point to me,” he said low in her ear, and she looked up at him with fire in her eyes.  
  
“Round’s not over,” she shot back, and when her hand began to move on his cock the stunned sound he made sent a surge of triumph rocketing through her.

It was impossible for him to deny, with his cock iron-hard and pulsing in her hand like a living thing, that she was giving back as good as she got. Impossible for him to pretend she hadn’t roused him to an almost unbearable pitch of desire.  
  
So he flipped the tables on her.  
  
“Harder,” he growled, gripping her by the shoulders and slamming her back into the wall, rocking his hips forward to thrust into her hands, to take back control.  
  
Instantly Abby let go, yanking her hands back and shaking her head. “I don’t take orders from you.”  
  
“ _Goddammit,_ Abby.”  
  
But she didn’t move, pressed her palms flat against her sides, chin tilted up defiantly, eyes hot and stubborn as they fixed on his.  
  
“Are we going to stay right here for three days?” he murmured, voice low and raspy, causing her to fight back a shiver of arousal.  
  
“You started this.”  
  
“But you won’t finish it.”  
  
“Not on _your_ terms, no.”  
  
“How the _hell_ did Jake put up with you for twenty years?” he demands roughly, making her freeze in place. “If even in bed you’re the only one who ever gets to call the shots.”  
  
“Jake liked it,” she whispered, hooking her fingers into the frayed cotton of his belt loops and pulling him close. “He liked it that way.” Marcus swallowed hard, cheeks going pink, eyes darkening. He was picturing it, she realized. The thought of her and Jake was turning him on. “A man who’s secure in his masculinity doesn’t have to throw women around in the bedroom – or shove them up against walls – to feel like a man,” she hissed softly, clutching onto his belt loops even tighter as he tries to move away, like she had suddenly shamed him into changing his mind. But she didn't let him go. “Jake was _so good_ , Marcus, he was an _incredible_ fuck, and he knew it, he had nothing to prove. So yeah. He let me have it however I wanted it. Let me shove him down on the bed and ride him until he came. Let me fuck his ass with my fingers. Let me make him scream.” Marcus’ whole face was blushing hot red and he couldn’t speak, couldn’t tear his eyes off her. “If you were half the man he was you wouldn’t have to do what you’re doing, Marcus,” she breathed, one hand sliding hard up his chest to hold him by the back of the neck so he couldn’t escape her gaze. “Walk around the Ark like you’re fifty feet tall and made of steel, push everyone away, throw your weight around. Arrest and execute anyone who disagrees with you. You think they respect you, but it’s all for show. Inside you’re still the same scared little boy you always were.”  
  
Silence.  
  
“That’s a low blow,” he finally whispered, jaw clenching and unclenching like he was fighting to hold back some violent emotion.  
  
“You shouldn’t have brought up my dead husband – _who you arrested_ – if you didn’t want to go where that path was leading, Marcus,” she fired back. “If you didn’t want to know the way you look to me, next to him, you should never have said his name.”  
  
“How _do_ I look to you, next to him?” he asked in a low, dark voice, threaded with fury but with something in it that was almost, almost, a hint of softening. Like there was a part of him that genuinely wanted to know.  
  
“He was kind,” she answered, almost against her will. “Warm. Alive. Loved me. Loved our daughter. Loved everyone. Wanted to be everyone’s dad. He believed that people were good at heart. He didn’t think you had to be cold and heartless to be strong.”  
  
“That’s what you think of me,” he said, nodding, jaw clenched tight, and if she didn’t know him better she would have sworn he looked . . . _hurt_. “Good to know.”  
  
“You don’t think I know why you hate me, Marcus?” she pressed him, fingers digging into the back of his neck. “It’s because _I see you_. Because you could be better than this if you tried, but you won’t. You could be your own man, not just an extension of Thelonious. You could be a real leader. You could be extraordinary. But you don’t even try.”  
  
“Why bother,” he retorts bitterly, “if I’ll never live up to Saint Jake and his perfect example.”  
  
The sizzling crack of her hand on his cheek startles her more than it does him. She’s shocked at herself. He was expecting it.  
  
The kiss, however, shocks them both.

His mouth slammed into hers before she’d even had the chance to draw her hand away, the hot red mark of her slap almost disappearing into the fierce blush of desire that had swept over his face and hadn’t retreated. He kissed her like he was trying to make a point, kissed her like he could make her accusations untrue, and even though the fury pulsing in her chest didn’t dissipate one whit, she still felt herself begin falling into him, begin to lose control over the sheer magnitude of her want.  
  
When his hands moved to her waistband, yanking the fly of her jeans all the way open and tugging them down off her hips, she groaned heavily into his mouth and returned the favor, swift aggressive fingers tearing him open and making room, seizing his cock and plunging it into her before he had time to get his bearings and take the lead. His groan was _shattering_ , and for a moment he closed his eyes and his whole face went soft with pleasure and Abby couldn’t stop herself from pulling his face down to hers to kiss her again.  
  
“Abby,” he panted as she hooked one leg around his, pulling him in deeper, feeling his cock stretch her open, feeling the blissful ache of being filled all the way for the first time since Jake. He was _so good_ inside her, heavy and thick and powerful, this is _exactly_ how she would have thought it would feel to be fucked by Marcus Kane, if she’d ever thought about it before even once in her life. His hands gripped her hips, slid down to cup her ass, and then before she even knew what was happening he had lifted her off the ground completely. Ankles and arms went around him to keep her balance as he held her pinned between his cock and the wall, pushing into her over and over, harder and harder. “Goddammit, Abby, how the hell did you do this to me?”  
  
“I don’t know,” she gasped as she felt the thick head of his cock slide in deep, deep, deep, walls expanding to make room for him. “Last I checked, you wanted to throw me out the airlock, not fuck me.”  
  
“I haven’t ruled out both,” he muttered, and any retort she might have made was choked out of her lungs as his cock pounded in and out, holding her upright with the sheer power of his body, hands hard and firm, holding her ass in place. “Don’t test me.”  
  
“Is that the price of making sure you come?”  
  
“There’s absolutely no chance I’m not going to come.”  
  
“Well, _someone’s_ sure of himself.”  
  
Her retort was rewarded (or maybe punished) by the deepest thrust yet, and she couldn’t hold back a cry of agonized pain-pleasure as he bottomed out inside her, reaching so deep into the depths of her that she felt ripped in half. “That’s not what I meant,” he whispered, holding still inside her, thighs trembling from exertion, sweat at his temples, eyes dark and wild. “I meant there’s no chance I’m not going to come, because it’s _you_. Because I’m fucking _you_. Because even the _thought_ of fucking you . . .”  
  
He stopped, pulling back from the brink abruptly, leaving her wide-eyed and stunned at all the implications of the thing he didn’t say.  
  
“Marcus."  
  
“Shut up, Abby.”  
  
“I didn’t know –"  
  
“Shut up, Abby.”  
  
She shut up.  
  
Her mouth was warm and insistent on his, and it was different this time, not an attack but an invitation. She was pulling him in. She dug her ankles into his back harder, harder, giving herself leverage to thrust back, to meet him halfway, to keep things even, to remind him that this wasn’t a thing he was doing to her, it was also a thing she was doing to him. Her arms were tight around his neck, holding herself up, stabilizing her torso as he pounded her against the wall, but she couldn’t stop herself from letting gentle fingertips play lightly with the soft hair at the back of his neck. His skin was so soft there. Like uncovering a whole different Marcus somewhere inside this body that nobody had ever seen.  
  
Impossible to believe how desperately she wanted to watch him come. How good he felt, how close she was.  
  
Impossible to believe Marcus Kane was fucking her like this.

“You’ve thought about this,” she breathed, fingertips on the back of his neck making him shiver. “Thought about _me_.”  
  
“Don’t.”  
  
“Was it like this? Up against a wall? Did you go down on me? Make me suck your cock? Was I on my back in your bed?” He didn’t answer. “Was I on my back in _my_ bed? Was Jake there? Was that part of the picture?” He turned his head, couldn’t look at her. “How did you picture it, Marcus? When you fucked me in your mind?”  
  
The hot red flush swept across his cheeks again. Mortified, indignant. She had caught him admitting something vulnerable, something he’d never intended she would ever find out. It was as though actually fucking her left him somehow less exposed than revealing how much he wanted it.  
  
Well, of course. Because if he wanted her that badly, then he wasn’t the one in control.  
  
“Don’t be an idiot,” she murmured. “Holding back to keep me from trying to score a point on you.” Ankles dug in, hips pushed out, she thrust into him hard. He moaned. “Hasn’t it occurred to you,” she panted, “that if you _tell_ me, I might _do_ it?”  
  
He froze, buried deep inside her, face even more red than before, the blush sweeping down his throat and disappearing below the collar of his shirt.  
  
“Abby.”  
  
But he doesn’t move.  
  
“Coward,” she murmurs, but there’s no venom in it.  
  
“I hate you when you’re like this,” he murmured, still not looking at her. “So sure you’re right about everything.”  
  
“I just offered to let you fuck me any way you please, Marcus, and you’re still too damn stubborn to admit there are things you actually want.”  
  
“It’s a trap.”  
  
“It’s a _test_ ,” she corrected him. “Are you strong enough to let go of control? Even for a minute? Even for something you want this badly? Or are you too afraid?” He looked up at her. She took his face in her hands. “You goddamn aspiring martyr,” she whispered fiercely, “will you just come down off your high horse and show me how you want me to fuck you?”  
  
His brow furrowed, eyes darkening, and then before she even knew what was happening he had pulled them both, fully dressed, to the floor, rolling onto his back and lifting her hips to straddle him.  
  
“Fine,” he snapped at her. “If you really want to know. It was this. It was like this.”  
  
It all clicked.  
  
“You want me to fuck you,” she breathed, shivering with anticipation. “You want me in control, but too damn pissed at me to ask.” His silence was clearly an admission. “God, your stubbornness is infuriating,” she muttered as she braced her hands on his chest and took his cock back inside, sighing with relief at how good it felt, how beautifully he filled her up. “All right then,” she commanded him, leaning forward so her face hovered over his. “Then shut up and let me fuck you.”  
  
And he did.  
  
His body went soft with pleasure, eyes dazed, mouth a slack, gasping, moaning O, nothing held back. She rode him as hard as she could, taking her own pleasure greedily, plunging up and down, one hand snaking down to rub her own clit. They were still so tangled up in their own clothes that it was hard to get a good angle but she made it work, for both of them.  
  
It was so good. It was so good.   
  
It was a race to the finish and she got there first, his dick and her hand combined, and she arched her back as the cry rippled through her. She went soft as she came down, body relaxing, so she was stunned breathless when he gripped her hips, flipping her onto her back, and slammed into her, over and over. “Fuck, Abby, fuck, Abby,” he groaned into her throat, pounding as hard as he could, and she came _again_ , she couldn’t help it, he was so big, so deep, so hard. Her cunt trembled as he slid wetly all the way in and out, then he finally came with a raw groan as he pinned her between his body and the floor.  
  
It was quiet for a long time.  
  
“Don’t say anything,” he growled as she inhaled to speak. “Not now. Not ever. Don’t ever say anything about this again.”  
  
“Marcus –"  
  
 _“Don’t.”_  
  
So she didn't.  
  
When Thelonious opened the door, he was greeted by a heavy cloud of pent-up silence and two frozen figures who had neither moved from opposite sides of the room, nor spoken, in three days.


End file.
